by Barker, Ann
The young man smiled faintly. ‘I will do my possible, never doubt it.’
Moments later, the door was flung open and a rough-looking individual in a long frieze coat, a hat pulled low, a mask over the lower part of his face and a pistol in his hand, demanded that they get down. They all did as they were asked.
Mr Granby was obliged to support his wife who was chalk white and noticeably trembling. Evangeline emerged from the coach like a queen and, after a brief glance at the pistol in the highwayman’s hand, stepped without hesitation in front of her mother.
Once out of the coach, the clergyman looked around. Apart from the man who had opened the door, there appeared to be two other highwaymen. One was covering the coachman and groom with a pistol, whilst a third was beginning an examination of their belongings which were on the roof of the coach.
‘I beseech you,’ Michael said clearly, holding up the handsomely bound book which had lain beside him on the seat, ‘take heed of what is written in this volume.’
‘Garn!’ the man beside them growled contemptuously.
‘Then I shall have to impress its message upon you,’ was the reply. Moments later, the book was flying through the air, knocking the pistol from the hand of the man on horseback. The pistol discharged, startling the horse which then threw its rider, whilst those harnessed to the stage tossed their heads in fright and moved restlessly, thus dislodging the highwayman on the roof from his perch. At the same time as this was happening, the clergyman kicked the third highwayman’s legs from under him and, when he attempted to rise, rendered him unconscious with a blow to the side of his head.
Meanwhile, Granby possessed himself of the unconscious man’s pistol, and commanded the man who had fallen from his horse to stay still whilst the groom tied him up. Buckleigh looked round to see what had happened to the man who had fallen off the roof and discovered that Miss Granby was carefully tying his bootlaces together whilst he was still stunned. He could not help grinning, even whilst he sought out some rope. Very soon, all three rogues were securely tied up. In the midst of everything, Mrs Granby had quietly fainted.
‘I suggest that you send your groom to fetch the nearest magistrate,’ said Michael to Mr Granby. ‘In the meantime, why not escort the ladies home? I can easily watch over these fellows.’
‘But what of you, sir?’ asked Mr Granby, kneeling beside his wife and chafing her hands whilst Evangeline searched in her reticule for some smelling salts. ‘It seems very unfair to offer you a ride and then go on without you.’
Buckleigh shook his head dismissively. ‘We must have accomplished over half the journey,’ he replied. ‘The roads are drying nicely, and the walk will be quite pleasant. If you would be so good as to take my cloak bag with you, however, I will collect it when I arrive.’
‘With the greatest of pleasure,’ answered Mr Granby. ‘The magistrate, Sir Lyle Belton, is known to me. He lives nearby and I am sure that he will not be long. I must admit that I will be glad to assure myself that the earlier coach carrying my servants and the rest of our luggage has arrived safely.’
‘Hush, Papa,’ said Evangeline urgently, glancing at her mother. ‘Not in front of Mama.’ By this time, Mrs Granby had regained consciousness and her husband assisted her into the chaise with Evangeline’s help.
Michael turned to Evangeline. ‘I do trust this adventure has not discomposed you too greatly, ma’am,’ he said.
She tossed her head. ‘It would take a good deal more than a few incompetent highwaymen to discompose me,’ she declared.
‘Uppity bitch!’ spat the thief who had opened the door of the chaise.
Before either Buckleigh or Granby could respond to this insolence, Miss Granby had walked over to him. ‘You may say what you please, but do not forget that you are the one who is on the floor trussed like a chicken,’ she said. Then she turned to her father who had got back down in order to assist her. ‘Shall we go, Papa?’
‘By all means, my angel,’ replied Granby. He looked at Buckleigh, who was walking over to where his book had fallen. ‘I do trust that it is not damaged, sir,’ he said. ‘Such a handsome volume.’
‘No, I think not,’ replied the clergyman, bending to pick it up.
‘Such quick thinking on your part, Mr Buckleigh – if not entirely in keeping with your calling,’ said Miss Granby. ‘But then, who are we to complain when we have such a happy result?’
‘Speak for yourself,’ growled the highwayman who had been knocked off his feet.
‘You hold your tongue,’ said Granby, turning from climbing into the chaise, having just helped his daughter to her seat. ‘That young man is under the protection of the Good Book. Are you not, sir?’
Buckleigh grinned, as he glanced down at the book in his hand. It had fallen open at the title page. The History of Tom Jones: a Foundling. It had been a gift, whose donor had written underneath the title:
From your friend James Warrener. Remember that no one owes you anything.
Then, as the chaise disappeared, he sat down with his back to a tree and the book open on his knee. If he were honest with himself, however, his mind was on the young lady who had just left rather than on the printed page. Had the incident with the highwaymen not taken place, he would simply have said that although she was very pretty, she was also high-handed, demanding, rather unscrupulous and more than a little spoiled. The robbery had revealed another side to her. He recalled how she had looked at him, understanding his unspoken message, then descended from the coach with dignity and without a trace of the fear that she must have been feeling on her lovely face. He also remembered how she had put herself between the pistol and her mother, and later hushed her father when he had said something that might have alarmed the older lady. Obviously she had hidden depths. He would have liked to discover more about her, but, as a poor curate, he must be realistic. A woman like the lovely, pampered Miss Granby could never be destined for a man in his position, however much his imagination might toy with such an outcome.
The magistrate did not keep him waiting for very long. He arrived tooling his own sporting carriage, followed by a closed wagon with four men. He greeted Michael with a beaming smile.
‘This is excellent!’ he declared, climbing down and holding out his hand after one of the men had run to his horses’ heads. ‘You are to be commended, sir. These fellows have been making a nuisance of themselves in this district for far too long. It is high time that decent people can go abroad without risking attack.’
‘I am delighted to have been of use,’ the clergyman replied. ‘Michael Buckleigh at your service.’
‘Honoured to make your acquaintance. I am Sir Lyle Belton, magistrate for this area. My men will take these felons into custody to await their trial. In the meantime, sir, I must request that you return to my home now and make a statement. I shall also need your address, since you will probably be called to testify.’
Michael held back an inward sigh. He would have preferred to have got on with his journey immediately. He could hardly object to this request, however, so, smiling politely, he said, ‘Of course; although as I am new to the district, I do not know my address as yet.’
‘Needless to say, I must also speak to Mr and Mrs Granby and their daughter, who were with you when the hold-up occurred. May I therefore suggest that you have some refreshment at my house and that I then drive you to Illingham to join them? This might act as some recompense for having delayed your journey.’
‘Thank you. I would be much obliged.’
On the way to Sir Lyle’s house, Michael soon discovered that the magistrate did not drive a sporting equipage for nothing, for he went at a rattling pace, feather-edging corners, and entering his own narrow gateway without a check in his pace. Michael was a bruising rider, but he had never had the opportunity or the means to drive more than a one-horse gig. He found himself hoping that one day he would be in a position to purchase such a carriage and pair as this.
‘Here we are – The Cedars,’ sa
id Sir Lyle, as they drew up outside the front door of a handsome, square-built house that looked no more than thirty years old. Two fine trees, one on either side, showed why it had been given its name. ‘This was built by my father,’ he went on. ‘But come in, sir, do. We’ll go to the book room and you can tell me exactly what happened while my steward writes it all down. Then we’ll join my wife and daughter for refreshments.’
The sunny aspect of the book room was very welcome after the previous day’s rain, as was the fine red wine which was brought to them, following Sir Lyle’s instructions. This courtesy was much appreciated by the recipient, for Michael had soon discovered that a curate could sometimes be treated with thinly veiled contempt and, on occasions, the poorer wine would be brought out for his consumption. He tolerated this, but sometimes wondered from where he had inherited his taste for the finer things. Wine, horses, food, even porcelain; he had to admit that he liked the best, but, much to his frustration, he could often only afford the mediocre.
Sir Lyle sat quietly listening whilst Michael described the incidents of that morning in as much detail as possible, and the steward wrote it all down. Then, when that job was done and the account had been checked through, he rose, rubbing his hands together. ‘Come, sir, you have done your duty. Let’s join the ladies for some refreshment, shall we?’
‘Pray do not tell me, sir, that your wife and daughter have delayed their meal on my behalf,’ Michael protested.
‘Oh, it’s of no consequence,’ said Sir Lyle dismissively. ‘You know what women are like. They will be anxious to meet the hero of the hour.’
Michael felt rather embarrassed at being described in such a way, but he soon discovered that at far as Lady Belton and Miss Amelia Belton were concerned, he was speaking no more than the truth. The two ladies both listened with bated breath as Sir Lyle described Michael’s heroism, his accurate account bearing witness to the fact that he had been listening very carefully.
When the baronet explained how Michael had managed to subdue all three men virtually at the same time, Miss Belton gave a little gasp and breathed ‘Such heroism!’ Miss Belton was very like her mother, both ladies being dark and petite, with neat figures and lustrous brown eyes.
‘Your father makes it sound more impressive than it really was,’ said Michael frankly. ‘The fact that the man on the roof was startled into falling was a piece of good luck and nothing more.’
‘Mr Buckleigh, you are too modest; is he not, Mama?’ said Miss Belton.
‘I think he is,’ her ladyship agreed.
‘In any case, I cannot imagine what I would have done with them had Mr and Miss Granby not been there,’ Michael told them.
‘I am sure that Evangeline was very brave,’ said Miss Belton admiringly. ‘In her place, I would have fainted quite away and been of no use to you. I fear I do not have her bold spirit, do I Mama?’
‘No, my love, you are quite unlike her,’ answered Lady Belton with a satisfied smile. ‘Do you have brothers or sisters, Mr Buckleigh?’
‘I have one sister who is ten years younger than myself,’ he replied.
‘Does she have your distinctive colouring?’ asked the baronet.
‘No,’ Michael replied. ‘She is fair, but without my strange eyebrows, I’m pleased to say.’
‘I think them very distinguished,’ said Miss Belton, who then blushed and looked down at the tablecloth. Lady Belton smiled indulgently and changed the subject.
Michael was intrigued. His experience in houses where young ladies were present was generally that they would be kept at a safe distance from him. A curate earning less than forty pounds a year was not considered to be a good match. His striking looks tended to attract female attention, so he would often be steered towards grandparents, older brothers, and maiden aunts of at least fifty. An occasion such as today, when an only daughter was looking at him admiringly and her parents were doing nothing to prevent it, was rare indeed.
Whilst hoping that one day he might marry for love, Michael was honest enough to admit that he could see a good many advantages in having a well-dowered bride. There would be no more worries about providing for his sister Theodora for a start. Nor need he become anxious about what would happen if his stepfather’s health broke down. A wealthy father-in-law would probably mean a parish of his own, too. He was well aware that men could continue as curates for many years. His own stepfather had a curate who was well into his forties. He, Michael, had hardly done anything to distinguish himself in a favourable way. He was therefore unlikely to gain a parish very quickly through his own unaided efforts.
The idea of marrying for money alone was distasteful to him, but looking at Miss Belton’s blushing countenance, he knew that it would not be hard to be fond of her. It would not be the kind of roaring in his blood that he felt as he thought of Miss Granby, but he and Miss Granby had begun their acquaintance by snatching a few hours out of time. Once she had discovered who he really was, she had seemed to regard him with thinly veiled contempt. Her behaviour, too, had hardly suggested that she would make a suitable wife for a clergyman. He would do much better to set his sights upon Miss Belton. With a courteous smile, he turned to listen to what she was just saying to him.
After they had eaten, then drunk tea in the drawing room, Sir Lyle said, ‘Mr Buckleigh will be anxious to view his accommodation, no doubt. Are you ready to leave now, sir?’
‘Whenever you like,’ Michael answered politely.
‘Papa, may I come with you?’ Miss Belton asked prettily. ‘It is simply ages since I have seen Evangeline. I should like to hear her account of the hold-up.’
‘That rather depends on whether Mama can spare you,’ Sir Lyle answered.
‘Mama thinks that a little fresh air would do her no harm,’ replied Lady Belton indulgently. ‘Go and put your bonnet on, my dear.’
Michael smiled. He was not at all averse to seeing more of pretty little Miss Belton. Her modest demeanour made a welcome change after Miss Granby’s more commanding style.
They were somewhat crowded up on the seat of Sir Lyle’s curricle, but nobody complained. Miss Belton apologized with engaging bashfulness for taking up so much room, but her father dismissed this comment. ‘A dainty little creature like you takes only a scrap of space,’ he said. ‘Anyway, we are not going far. I’m sure Buckleigh doesn’t mind.’
‘No indeed,’ Michael answered, looking down at the young lady whose thigh was touching his. Doubtless in her place Miss Granby would be insisting that he perched up behind with the groom!
‘Have you preached a sermon yet, Mr Buckleigh?’ Miss Belton asked. ‘I should be so nervous. However can you dare to stand up and speak in church in front of a lot of people?’
‘It is something to which one becomes accustomed,’ Michael answered, easily. ‘I have done it before, so it will not be strange to me.’
‘Are you to preach on Sunday?’ Amelia asked.
‘So I believe.’
‘Papa, may we come to Illingham to hear Mr Buckleigh?’ Amelia asked. ‘It is not very far away.’
‘And what of Mr Wilson?’ her father asked, referring to their own vicar. ‘I should hate him to think that we were forsaking him.’
‘We could send a message to him to say that we wanted to welcome Mr Buckleigh who is new to the area,’ she suggested. ‘Would it not be an appropriate gesture, given the service that he has rendered the community in ridding it of those scoundrels?’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Sir Lyle agreed, ‘but we must see what Mama thinks. She is very strict about church attendance, you know.’
‘But we would still be attending,’ his daughter pointed out.
‘That will do for now, Amelia. I have said that we will ask Mama.’
‘Yes, Papa,’ Miss Belton answered dutifully, deciding that she would be able to twist Mama around her little finger later.
Michael smiled approvingly at this demonstration of filial obedience, and thought of how agreeable it would be to have Miss Bel
ton and her parents watching as he conducted his first service. Then he remembered his vestments, packed inside his luggage, and hoped that he would be able to find some obliging woman to press them. He would hate to appear for the first time in creased robes, particularly if these new friends were going to make a special effort to see him conduct worship!
Granby Park was a fine-looking building, which could be admired from several angles owing to the long, elegantly curved drive. It was larger than The Cedars and the brickwork was more mellow, leading Michael to think that it was probably a little older. Sir Lyle steered his curricle through the gateway without checking, and negotiated the curves in the drive at a smart trot.
‘You seem to be a capital whip, sir,’ said the clergyman admiringly.
‘I enjoy driving more than riding, I must confess,’ the other man replied.
‘Papa is teaching me to drive,’ said Miss Belton, ‘but he does not often have very much free time. I don’t suppose you would teach me, Mr Buckleigh?’
Michael laughed ruefully. ‘Willingly, Miss Belton, but I fear that I drive very little myself. I would be much more likely to ask you to give me lessons.’
She looked a little disappointed at this revelation, but by the end of his speech she had regained her sparkle. ‘Be sure that I shall do so, just as soon as Papa says I may,’ she promised.
‘My dear, you have only just started to learn,’ said her father with a laugh. ‘It will be years before you are proficient enough to teach others.’
Glancing down, Michael observed a flash of temper cross her face before her features composed themselves into their usual obedient lines, and she murmured, ‘Yes, Papa.’
Mr and Miss Granby were both in the drawing room, and they rose to greet their visitors. Miss Granby and Miss Belton embraced with unconvincing cries of mutual affection, whilst Mr Granby and Sir Lyle greeted one another in a more restrained style.
‘Evangeline, my dear, it has been far too long!’ Miss Belton exclaimed. ‘I do declare, you have grown taller.’
